I’ve been struggling with what this blog is about for a few years. On the surface, it seems to be a blog about books, but that’s not exactly it. In some sense, it’s my own incomprehensible version of The Great Gatsby.
More exactly, this is a blog about ideas.
And so, I suppose, I am like a rabbit, hopping from books to movies, poetry, music, podcasts, conversations, etc.
At the same time, I meditate to get rid of all the words. To search for some individual peace.
My husband recently (July 2015) sustained a traumatic brain injury. He didn’t (hasn’t) gotten right back to “normal.” And from this event, I’ve learned he has had many, upwards of 10, traumatic brain injuries in his life in which he lost consciousness. And the seriousness of this event seems more apparent with each passing day as a “new normal” threatens us. On the surface, he often seems fine—just like he used to be, and I forget. I forget until I brush the wound, and it consumes us yet again.
So a strict book review blog, this is not. I embrace fiction and believe it adds real value to our lives. I believe that it is essential to our happiness as a species, and this is because it provides us with some relief from reality.
But what is reality?
Reality: The conjectured state of things as they actually exist, rather than as they appear or might be imagined.
Conjecture: An opinion or conclusion formed on the basis of incomplete information.
That’s a bit unsettling. I don’t want my “reality” to be based on incomplete information, but I suppose it is unavoidable in this complicated world. My reality might very well be an illusion.
Illusion: A thing that is likely to be wrongly perceived or interpreted by the senses. (The question of right or wrong is philosophical.)
Here is what I originally wrote about what this blog is supposed to be:
Reading helps me change the subject in my brain. It enlarges the potential I see in the world. It’s my substitute for travel and fuels my imagination. I like the term literary hedonist. I think I am one.
A whole world can exist in a book. This amazes me. That written marks can represent sounds and create language that translates into visions in our imaginations is nothing short of miraculous.
Some authors are better miracle workers than others. And I am learning that at different points in our lives, we are susceptible to different sorts of conjurings.
I hope you enjoy the blog. Please feel free to leave your comments and opinions.